All That Matters
by ulquiorrii
Summary: And for one desperate moment there he crept back in her memory. K.HibariXOC One-shot


Summary (c) American Girl by Tom Petty

* * *

The lights are blinding me, and so do the colors. It wasn't actually my idea, and I'd be damned if it was his. Maybe we should've gone for white then, it's pretty safe. Instead of pink.

I've always hated pink.

I could see it everywhere. The people are wearing pink. I'm wearing pink, and I'm sure my cheeks are, as well, because of the entire gunk they've put on them. His cheeks are not pink, though. Instead, they're white. But not dead white; just pale.

I knew pink doesn't suit me, but what else can I do? I probably still have time to toss my bouquet and run away, but then here he is. Or rather, here am I, finally. And it's all that I've been waiting for.

He smiles upon seeing me and moves in closely to whisper in my ear. Apparently, he thinks that pink suits me well. I want to laugh, and I do.

And it's different.

It isn't the same as the sarcastic ones that _we _used to exchange together. My laugh falters and I momentarily brace myself for another smart answer, but it never comes. When I look at him—at this man in front of me—he is smiling. He is squeezing my hand and looking at me in the eye, like I am some sort of precious jewel that he would never want to lose.

And so I smile back, and it surprisingly strains my cheeks.

I look at our entwined hands and marvel at how easily he could slide his long fingers in the spaces of my hand. _He _never held me like this. I look up again and this man looks at me at the corner of his eyes and he smiles. And for a split-second, I'm scared. Scared of this unfamiliarity and kindness. But then it goes away as fast as it came.

I remember something. Some stray memory. _He_ did hold me like this after all. But I don't clearly remember.

I hold him closer. He doesn't complain.

The audience is quiet and there isn't any noise except for the priest's irritating voice. Noise, huh. I almost chuckle. That old man wouldn't have made any much of a sound if _he _were here.

If he were him.

And it's stupid. Right now, he'd probably be back in his own mansion, having his cup of tea and listening to that stupid bird's voice. Or maybe he was out to do some sort of business with some people, and by this time, he'd be knocking them out unconscious already or perhaps chopping their limbs off. I know he's got a short fuse. A really short one. And I almost scold him telepathically.

Just like what we always pretended to do.

But it wasn't just entirely pretend, because I hardly had to open my mouth for him to understand that we were through. And he didn't have to, either. But it was fine.

He was a man of few words.

My eyes wander around in the constricted space that this stupid head-dress is putting me in, and they almost bulge out because of all the pinkness.

I want to tear this dress off.

I hate pink.

I want it black.

And I stop and idly thought of what he'd probably choose.

Oh, right. He wouldn't care. He wouldn't care about all these people. He wouldn't care about this stupid wedding theme that has taken these inane wedding planners a hefty lot of time to decide about. He wouldn't care about the place, where this event is going to take place, where we are supposed to have our honeymoon—or if we're even going to have one—and about the wedding dress that I'm supposed to wear. He wouldn't care about the wedding in the first place. He wouldn't have cared about all these.

He wouldn't care at all.

If he were here, he would've silenced this priest's voice long before I've even reached the altar. Heck there wouldn't have been any priest. He'd be sure someone from his Family would be holy enough to act like one. Which is not quite probable. If he were here, he wouldn't have let me walk down that path; he would've walked right towards me and taken me in his arms. And then he'd kiss me right there and then. And he wouldn't care about all these people.

He wouldn't care at all.

Because all he'd care about is having me in his arms.

And I can still feel _his_ lips when my groom kisses me. When he touches my back, I can still feel _his _hands. I caressed the side of his face and drowned the people's voices. I don't care about them. This moment is important. It's all that I've been waiting for.

But when I open my eyes, his eyes are warm; his smile is kind.

I smile back, a solitary tear trickling down my face.

And it's all that I've been waiting for.

And that's all that matters.


End file.
